


March Birthdays

by Jubalii



Series: A Year's Worth [3]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: A Year's Worth Series, Allusions to Trauma, Birthday Party, F/M, Kissing, Light Angst, Talking, Tragic Past?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 00:02:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10320626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jubalii/pseuds/Jubalii
Summary: Part 3 of A Year's Worth Series.It's someone's birthday, but is that a good thing?





	

            Eve stood on the lower platform of the bell tower, the wind whipping at her cheeks and stinging her eyes. The Labyrinthian winter had decided to remain their visitor for another month, the ocean gales bringing in wave after wave of icy weather to the island. The weather was normally balmy by this time, but the fountains still froze every night and wintry precipitation was a weekly occurrence. Even on a day like today, where the sky was clear from horizon to horizon and the sun shone down with a fierce brilliance, it was cold enough that she shivered through her three layers of clothing. But work was work, whether winter or summer, and it was better to be up here in the wind rather than in the sleeting rain.

            She put a hand over her eyes to block the sun as she leaned over the banister, looking out over the town. The fog was unable to obscure the sea shimmering in the distance, white capped waves rushing in to crash against the docks and gulls dancing on the erratic breeze, seemingly held in place by the wind only to dive down to shore a moment later. The town’s flags were either held straight out or flapping wildly as the airstreams between the buildings warred for dominance. Above her head, she heard the ghostly echo of a moan as the wind pushed against the bell’s hollow interior. She was glad to have pulled her hair up; her neck and ears were colder as a result, but she wouldn’t have to brush out countless painful knots later with the ponytail tucked neatly beneath both her cap and scarf.

            A hand clapped on her shoulder firmly and she turned with a gasp, nearly losing her clipboard over the side of the banister. It was so loud on the platform that she hadn’t been able to hear any creaking footsteps on the tower stairs. Espella jumped back as the surprise passed from Eve to her, her eyes widening and hand loosing the grip on her red hood. It flopped back and her braids fell out, pushed sideways into her face.

            “You like to hide in odd places, don’t you?” she managed to shout over the wind, her hands trying to grab both hood and braids. Eve motioned her back to the stairs and they descended just enough to be able to hear each other, the wall creating an effective barrier against the elements. Espella let out a breath, smoothing her hair back down. “The wind is _terrible_ up here; you’ll fall off the edge if you don’t watch out.”

            “I’m aware.” Eve took the time to readjust the scarf beneath her two jackets. “And for the record, I wasn’t hiding. I’m working.”

            “I just meant that I’ve been looking all over the place for you,” Espella explained. “I tried your office, but then Lettie said she thought she’d seen you down by the garrison, and then Ridelle said _she_ thought you were near the alchemist’s. It was lucky I happened to look up as I was passing by the Square; I saw you lean over the railing.”

            “They were both technically right. I’ve been running all over town this morning, trying to get proper measurements for widening some of the alleyways.” She motioned to the platform just above their heads. “I thought if I had a bird’s eye view, it would help more than trying to envision it from the ground.”

            “But in this wind, though?” Espella made a face as they both slid down to sit side by side on one of the stairs. “You’ll catch a cold.”

            “I’ll catch a cold just as easily on the ground as in the air,” Eve pointed out. “And I wasn’t planning on standing up there all morning. Just a few minutes.” She tucked her pencil down between the paper and the clipboards metal clasp. “Why were you looking for me?”

            “Oh!” The blonde gave her an impish grin. “Guess what I found yesterday?” She didn’t give time for guessing, continuing in the next breath. “I know when Sir Barnham’s birthday is!” The news didn’t have the effect she wanted; Eve stared blankly at her, waiting for something else.

            “And?” she finally prompted, when Espella remained silent. She got a reproachful glare in return.

            “And!” she repeated in a mocking tone. “I’ll have you know I’ve been trying to find out his birthday since he started work at the bakery. That’s been two years this month, Eve!” Had it been? She thought back and was startled to realize that Espella was right. The time had flown by so quickly, it didn’t seem like two years. “Apparently it’s a bit of a mystery—he never tells anyone. Though, for the life of me, I can’t see _why_.” She crossed her arms, face twisting in puzzlement.

            “I… I had no idea.” She had to admit that she didn’t know his birthday, though he’d known hers. It had just never came up in conversation, and after that—fiasco was a word, but she wasn’t sure if it applied here—last year, he hadn’t been able to look at her for a full week without a red face. She’d purposely avoided the topic to save him any further embarrassment. _Although now that I think about it, was that **embarrassment**? _  At the time, she hadn’t thought twice about it, but now she couldn’t help but remember that people blushed for other reasons, too…. Just thinking about it made her own cheeks hot, but thankfully they were chapped from the wind and Espella didn’t notice the change in hue.

            “Well, yesterday while I was helping Dad clean some old stuff out of his office, I found a box of old records. Sir Barnham’s was one of them!” She smiled impishly. “I know his birthday, blood type, and where he was born.”

            “That’s all?” _Not much of a record,_ she couldn’t help but think.

            “That’s all I could read before Dad took it away. Something about ‘Breach of Confidentiality’ and how you aren’t supposed to look at other people’s medical records. Oh, I know his real name, too,” she added defensively. “But only his last name; his first name always was Zacharias, though it’s an odd name, isn’t it?”

            “No odder that Espella.” That earned her a light push and a frown.

            “Don’t be _mean_!” she scowled. “But that’s not important. What’s important is his birthday’s _tomorrow_ , which means we don’t have a lot of time to plan.”

            “I’m sorry, but what are we planning?”

            “Sir Barnham’s surprise birthday party!” Espella sighed, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. _Surprise party? She spent far too much time with Miss Fey; that sounds like something to be expected from her._ “Aunt Patty’s got refreshments down and said we could close early to have it in the bakery. It should probably just be us and Dad since more people makes it harder to surprise someone, but—”

            “Espella, if he doesn’t want anyone to know about his birthday, he mostly likely _does not_ want any sort of party, especially a surprise party.” She tried to keep her voice firm, even as the laughter crept up from her chest at the thought of him being _far_ more than surprised. “You should respect his decision to keep it a secret.”

            “But we’ve just _got_ to!” Her eyes shone with a stubborn glint that came straight from her father. “He gave me the most beautiful book of poems for my birthday, and he gave you a birthday present too, don’t forget!”

            “A lumpy, day old éclair that was a leftover!” she couldn’t help but scoff.

            “Don’t say that! I saw what the original was; that éclair was ten times better!” Espella scolded with such intensity that Eve fell silent. “He worked for _months_ trying to learn really advanced pastry techniques in order to make that for you just because I said that you really liked sweets! And it was terrible to see how heartbroken he was when he couldn’t get anything to come out right! It was… undercooked, and the crème was… and the chocolate just….” She waved her hands in the air, a cringing wince on her face at the memory. “But he tried _so hard_ , Eve. Shouldn’t we show him how much we appreciate him on his birthday? That’s what they’re for, isn’t it? To celebrate someone that we care about?”

            “When you put it that way—but he didn’t want anyone to know!” Eve was caught between doing right by his wishes and doing right by Espella’s morals, both of which were equally important in her eyes. If he didn’t want anyone to know his birthday, than celebrating it was most certainly out of the question. And yet, he had told her he’d took up working at the bakery in order to get some extra income! She hadn’t known that it was all just to bake her a damn éclair! She felt hot and confused, trying to remember exactly what he’d said to her that day. Yes, he had mentioned something about the dessert not turning out the way he had intended, but at the time her mind had been hanging on the words ‘leftover’ and ‘your likeness’.   _Why would he do months of work… all for me?_

            “Don’t get worked up over it,” Espella said, this time noticing the extra red in her friend’s face. “Honestly, I wouldn’t do it if I didn’t think it was a good idea. Dad and Aunt Patty agree, too. I’m sure he’ll understand what we’re trying to do for him, even if he doesn’t want anyone to know. And he knows that I can keep a secret, so the rest of the town will never find out if he doesn’t want them to.”

            “Oh, so now he’s telling you secrets?” Eve laughed. “Do the two of you stay up past bedtime and swap stories?” Espella smiled, the corners of her mouth curving just enough that she felt an odd shiver of trepidation. “What? Has he told you something about me?”

            “Oh, I don’t know,” Espella sang mockingly, twirling one braid. “He _might_ have told me something about you… but I’ll never tell.”

            “What is it?! Tell me,” she demanded, but her only answer was that mischievous smile.

            “Sorry, that’s classified information, Eve. You have to live at the bakery to know,” she joked. “Telling you would be a Breach of Confidentiality.”

“Espella!” She boxed the smaller girl in, pulling out her most effective Darklaw-interrogation glare. “What’s the last thing he said to you about me?” Espella thought a moment, actually stumped, and then giggled. “What!?”

“I think Miss Eve washed my shirt before she gave it back. It smells like those flowers,” she growled in an impressive imitation of him. A fresh wave of heat burned through her and she fought the urge to cover her face. _Of course you’d have to bring **that** up. _She still wasn’t sure how she could face him every day without resembling a tomato. It had been bad enough handing him the shirt back, unable to meet his eyes as she managed to choke out her thanks.

“O-of course I washed it! What kind of person returns clothing unwashed?” 

“It wasn’t dirty.” Espella paused. “Unless… you wore it all afternoon, Eve?” she asked with a false innocence, batting her lashes.

“ _I_ _did not_!” She really hadn’t, having stripped it off immediately after making it home. She couldn’t have torn it off faster had it been on fire. For Espella to even imagine that… _Oh god, what if **he** imagined that too?! Have I broken some kind of protocol for borrowing a man’s shirt?! _As bad as it was for another girl to imply that, for him to go around thinking that she’d been wearing his clothes was… unacceptable!

“It’s another reason for you to show your appreciation. He loaned you the shirt off his back when you were naked in his alcove.”

“You’re the only reason I was naked in his alcove!” she exclaimed, thoroughly mortified. “You and your dumplings!”

“They were delicious and you know it.” She looked up at the wooden slats of the platform. “Do you think he ever looks at you and remembers what you look like without a shirt on?”

“I don’t want to know that!”

“Do you ever look at him and remember what he looks like without a shirt on?”

“No!” _Yes._

“Which do you think he likes more: you with his shirt, or you without a shirt?”

“Change the topic, _please_!” Now she really did cover her face with her hands, resting the clipboard on her lap. _Why would it matter to him, unless he_ —behind her fingers, her eyes opened. Why would Espella think such a thing, unless he’d said something to her about it? Was she serious when she said that he’d told her secrets? _Did he tell you that he has feelings for me, Espella?_ Would she get a straight answer, if she were able to pose the question at all? She peeked through her fingers to see Espella staring intently at her, mouth set in a neutral line. “Espella…?”

“Eve.” Slowly, the girl’s bright eyes slid away. “Don’t ask me any questions I can’t answer, okay?” Suddenly she was all seriousness, hands clasped around her knees. “I don’t like telling you no.” Slowly, she brought her hands down from her face and mimicked the posture, drawing her own legs up and trapping the clipboard between her chest and  thighs. The wind rocked steadily above their heads as they fell into silence. Finally, she sighed and put her chin on her knees.

“If you’ve been sworn to secrecy, than I won’t try to drive the truth out of you. Besides, you’re probably not the one I should pose such questions to.” They smiled at each other, and Espella leaned over to bump their shoulders together lightly. “But, if you’re thinking what I think you’re thinking, then your refusal to answer is all the answer I need.”

“Well, not _exactly_. Then again, we may not be thinking the same thing.” Espella tapped her nose with one finger. “Great minds think alike, but if they did that all the time we’d have world peace.” She laughed again. “And so what you’re thinking I’m thinking you’re thinking is not what I’m really thinking that you’re thinking I’m thinking.”

“Ugh, stop.” The last thing she needed was a headache. “Fine, so what about this surprise party?”

“Well, other than getting a gift, I need you to be the one to distract Sir Barnham while we get it ready. Take him around town and pretend you need his advice on the alleys or something,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “Just keep him out of the bakery and then bring him there at one o’ clock. Can you do that for me?”

“I can try,” she agreed. “What are you going to get him as a gift?”

“I thought about baking a special cookie. I’ve been trying to experiment whenever he’s not around, but he’s been busy helping Aunt Patty with hot buns the last two days. I’m going to have to do it tonight, after he goes to bed.” She frowned and tapped at her temples with her knuckles. “The problem is that he’s such a light sleeper… if I make any noise in the bakery after hours, he’s going to think I’m a burglar. I wouldn’t be surprised if he tackles me from the staircase.”

“Bring the things you need to my house. You can work on it in the kitchen.” It seemed like a good plan, but Espella shook her head.

“If I start carrying things out of the bakery, he’ll get suspicious.” They both thought a moment more. “Maybe Jean can give me a sleeping draught to slip into his drink tonight.”

“You can’t drug him, Espella.” She made a face, but shrugged in agreement. “Look, send him on an errand to my house late this evening. It’ll take him longer to get there and back in the dark, but you’ll still have to work fast.”

“What on earth am I supposed to ask him to fetch? He’ll just say that it can wait until tomorrow.”

“I don’t know! Just make something up and say you can’t wait for it. Then when he gets to my house, I’ll just pretend to search around before saying I don’t have it. Be convincing.” Espella thought for a moment, and then nodded.

“I’ll just pretend to tear up or something,” she said to herself. “I bet that’ll make him run for it.”

“ _Espella_ ,” she couldn’t help but chide.

“Well, it’s not like we have any other ideas!” She stood up, brushing the back of her cloak. “What are you going to give him, Eve?”

“I… don’t know yet. I’ll think of something.” What did he _need_? She had never even seen the inside of his bedroom before, much less known what he was lacking. Even his hobbies were hard to buy for. She didn’t know his clothing size—she wished now that she had been more curious and examined his shirt while washing it. She didn’t know if he enjoyed reading or not, so buying him a book would be useless. She made a mental note to walk around some of the shops before going home and see if anything stood out.

“Oh, I’m excited!” Espella balled her fists, racing down the stairs before turning and calling back up to her. “I can’t wait!”

“Why?” she replied, even as the girl ran out into the wind and was beyond hearing range. “It’s not as if it’s your birthday.” 

* * *

 

“Are you sure you need my assistance with this?” He trudged behind her as she walked briskly up Main Street, hands in his pockets.

“Doubting my judgment, Sir Barnham?” She pulled her High Inquisitor tone for emphasis and heard him stumble behind her.

“Forgive me, but I just think I’m not best suited for…alleyways.” A moment’s pause, and then his steps quickened as he rushed to catch up to her. “I have neither good nor bad feelings towards their width, personally. I’m afraid I won’t be much help.”

“If you’re unable to stand a little chill, than say so.” She stopped, pretending to measure an alley with her hands before clucking her tongue. “Much too small.” To be fair, she was also tired of walking around in the icy air, but there were still fifteen minutes before she could walk him back to the bakery. They were counting on her to keep him occupied for the full two hours, and if that meant braving the elements than so be it.

“’Tis not that,” he argued quietly. She turned around, sizing him up with a solemn frown. He was dressed in a thick coat that was somehow bulkier than his armor, a navy scarf wound around his neck. Even so, his cheeks were rosy from the wind and his eyes sparkled in the sunshine. She felt a tugging sensation in her chest and brushed it aside, refusing to allow herself any wayward thoughts. _Not today. I have a job to do._

“Zacharias, if I wanted someone else’s opinion, you would not be standing here right now. I want yours, and yours alone.” Even though it was meant to be strictly professional, she still felt the same confusion she’d felt speaking to Espella and turned away quickly before it showed on her face. “Now stop complaining and let’s go. The faster we walk to the Square, the warmer we’ll be.” He didn’t say another word, but suddenly he was walking abreast of her with a renewed spring in his step.

They reached the Square in record time. It was deserted, most people opting to stay at home out of the wind. Eve wouldn’t have minded a nice fireplace herself, and used her companion’s body to block the brunt of the wind as she spoke useless words about widening such and such lanes, where two people couldn’t pass easily without having to fall behind one another.

“I think that is why they’re alleys and not roads,” he pointed out when she was through, speaking close to her ear so that she could hear him clearly. “Is it truly so important to you?”

“Well—” She checked her watch and saw they had five minutes left before the hour. _Damn, running late._ “I can make nothing of it right now,” she huffed with pretend annoyance. “Let’s go back to the bakery and I’ll think it over.” She nearly burst into laughter at the expression of relief on his face.

“Let’s!” he agreed, and to her surprise he took her hand and tugged her back in the direction they’d come. He doubled his speed and she was forced to jog to keep up, trying to shout at him over the wind and failing as her eyes watered. She coughed and gave up, focusing on keeping upright and not tripping on the cobblestones as he raced them towards the bakery, where he knew there was a warm fire and something to eat. Finally she managed to shake his grip and had to stop, hands on her knees as her lungs protested against the cold air she was gulping down.

“Fool,” she managed to hiss, a stitch in her side throbbing painfully. “I can’t run that fast in these boots.”

“My apologies, Miss Eve. I didn’t consider your heels.” A hand pressed gently against her back and she stood up abruptly, brushing him aside. The bell pealed once—one o’ clock. They were expecting them back any minute. Looking up, she could see the corner of the bakery at the end of the street. Had they really just ran across town in less than five minutes?!

“This isn’t a race!” she fussed, berating him with a cold glare. “Now, if you can manage to walk decently these last few feet…”

“O-of course, my apologies,” he repeated, utterly subdued. They walked in silence and she sighed to herself, feeling a pang of guilt. She hadn’t meant to shout at him on his birthday. She looked sideways to find him staring straight ahead, his forehead crinkled as he thought about something. She reached out tentatively and then, before she could rethink and change her mind, she looped her arm around his. The muscle tensed beneath her palm, but he said nothing. Hazarding another glance, she saw a goofy smile stretching from ear to ear. The sight both pleased and annoyed her. 

When they reached the bakery, he rushed to open the door and held it for her. She stepped through, taking one look at everyone inside. They all wore their best clothes (Eve had hers on as well, but thankfully her long coat was a good disguise), the Storyteller’s hair brushed up out of his face and scarlet bows on the end of Espella’s braids. Even Mrs. Eclaire had lost the oven mitts and handkerchief, her hair neatly curled around her ears. Barnham shut the door, and they waited until he turned around to face them.

“Happy Birthday!” they chorused, voices ringing out together in the small room. Constantine, his fur brushed to a fluffy perfection and a new kerchief wound around his neck, barked wildly. Even Eve the cat managed a purr, winding around Espella’s legs and staring at the knight with large, unblinking eyes. Barnham’s scarf, which he’d been working on unwinding from his neck, fell to the ground in a heap. His eyes moved from them to the table, where Espella had placed a vase full of beautiful wildflowers and stacked the four gifts around it neatly. On the other end, a large cake was immaculately decorated by Patty’s steady hand.

“W-what?” He stood at the threshold, looking with confusion from one face to the next before staring in disbelief at the table once more. “I—erm—what?”

“It’s a surprise party, for you!” Espella came around the table, throwing her arms around his middle and nearly losing herself in the thick coat. “For the day of your birth,” she teased, her voice muffled by the fabric.

“But I—what?” He looked faint now. “Eve, d-did you know about this?”

“Constantine didn’t wrap that gift for you,” she replied brusquely, standing off to the side. It was unclear to her whether he was merely surprised or upset. His expression was indiscernible as he stood there watching everyone over Espella’s head. She fiercely hoped it was the former, but as the time passed and no one moved, she became concerned. Maybe they’d made a larger mistake than they knew….

“These girls have taken it into their heads to show you just how much they care about you,” Mr. Cantabella said in a tranquil voice, gently untangling his daughter from the statue that Barnham had become. “Patty’s baked your favorite cake and put at least three layers of buttercream all over it; I believe she plans to kill us with kindness.”

“And there are presents, too!” Espella chirped, motioning to the parcels around the vase.

“More presents, more problems,” Barnham said vaguely, his voice hollow. Eve recognized the words as belonging to Ms. Primstone, but the way he’d said them… somehow she didn’t think he was thinking of the teacher. He cleared his throat and removed his coat, hanging it slowly on the hook. When he turned to face them, his expression was guarded, but he took the seat of honor at the table when Mr. Cantabella held it out for him. Espella’s smile faltered and she looked at her father, who took the first gift and put it between Barnham’s hands on the table.

“This one is from myself. I admit that it’s a bit juvenile, but I thought you might like it just the same.” There was a pregnant pause as Barnham stared down at the package, and just when the tension became unbearable his hand slowly rose and pulled at the ribbon. He looked up to see everyone watching him, his fingers hesitating on the pastel paper.

“I’ve… never had gifts before,” he admitted. The statement took her by surprise; surely he had birthday parties as a child, hadn’t he? Espella grinned.

“That’s because you never—” Eve’s hand flashed out before she could think, clapping on Espella’s thin wrist and squeezing warningly. The girl obediently lapsed into silence, looking up at her with wide eyes. “Well, you have them now,” she amended, licking her lips. “Go on, open it. I want to see what Dad got you.” He nodded and ran a finger beneath the tape holding the paper together, tearing it off to reveal a box. Eve couldn’t see what was in it, but his eyes lit up when he opened it up and her heart lurched in a pleasant way.

“Why, look Constantine.” He pulled out a stuffed dog that was every bit of the real one’s likeness. “’Tis a friend for you.” The pup froze, inching forward to sniff cautiously at the blank bead eyes of the stuffed dog. When it didn’t move, the hackles slowly settled and then Constantine’s tail began to wag. Barnham’s fingers moved over the fluffed ears and he placed it on the table beside the box. “I thank you, Story—Mr. Cantabella, sir.”

“Mine next!” Espella called, placing a thin square box in its place when Mrs. Eclaire removed the empty one. Barnham didn’t hesitate as long this time, opening it up to reveal cookies. He picked one up; it was shaped like his head, chocolate chips making do for eyes and cinnamon sprinkles accenting the orange icing of the cookie’s ‘hair’. Eve peered over his shoulder to see a variety of Labyrinthian faces smiling back up at her.

“Oh, Espella!” Mrs. Eclaire said in delight. “How cute they are!” She was laughing as she picked up her own likeness, white frosting making a little handkerchief over her hair and a tiny wrinkle forming her dimples. When she picked up the cookie, Eve saw her own face, a tiny icing smile and pink cheeks forming a shy expression on the cookie’s surface. She mirrored it and moved away, wondering how Barnham would be able to eat any of them. Even as she thought it, he ate his own head from the eyes up in one large bite and chewed thoughtfully.

“Delicious,” he announced after he swallowed, and Eve’s heart lurched again as some of his old demeanor crept back into his voice. “I thank you, Espella. It must have been hard to decorate all of these; you put a great deal of effort into it.” This earned him another hug, this time from behind as she nearly choked him. She whispered something in his ear and he turned pink, but nodded. Patty replaced her cookie on top and closed the box, placing it next to the dog.

“Which next?” she asked, motioning to the two gifts left. Barnham chose the left one. “That’s from me.” This was opened even faster now, and he pulled out two oven mitts embroidered with his name and swords on the backside.

“Like mine and yours!” Espella said, taking one to admire the craftsmanship. Mrs. Eclaire nodded.

“I can’t imagine you not being here at the bakery, so I thought it was about time you officially joined the roster with your own mitts.” She winked at him. He looked back down at the mitt, his index finger tracing the shape of one sword. Eve started when he looked back up, his jaw tight.

“I thank you,” he said again, this time hoarsely. “I… Mrs. Eclaire.” _Is he trying not to cry?!_ His shoulders tensed and she was suddenly sure of it, in the way he held his head down until he was able to control the expression on his face. He cleared his throat loudly, too loudly, and nodded. “I promise to live up to the expectations set by these.”

“Oh,”  the baker tutted, reaching out and stroking his hair. Eve thought there were tears in the woman’s eyes, but it must have been a trick of the candlelight; she blinked and they were quite dry. “You’re more of a help than you give yourself credit for. I’m daily thankful for you, Zacharias.”

“There’s one more,” Mr. Cantabella pointed out. “Eve’s gift is the last.”  It was also the smallest, and she’d made a mistake in wrapping it but had been able to hide it with the bow. She crossed her arms as the gift was sat before him, an irrational fear bubbling up in her gut. _What if he doesn’t like it? Compared to the others, it’s a little…_ She forced herself to calm down. He’d like the gift; she’d thought of him the moment she saw it in the display window on Main Street. There was no reason to think he’d scoff at it. But all the same, she was still nervous as he pulled off the ribbon and tore the paper.

“Oh, Eve….” Espella’s eyes lit up as she looked into the box.

“Well, take it out and let us see,” Mr. Cantabella urged, leaning over the table. Barnham pulled it out, and she smiled at the way it caught the candlelight and sparkled. It was a watch, one of the newer styles in the clocksmith’s shop.

The strap was leather and thin like the tourist’s watches, but the clock face held an Old English flair. It had a pearly sheen, banded with gold and painted with gold numerals for the numbers. Underneath the clocksmith’s stamp, there was a small window that opened into the inner workings. There, one could see the gears at work, making the hands tick and the time flow. She knew he’d enjoy seeing the inner mechanics of the watch the moment she spied it sitting at the forefront of the display. That had been the factor in an impulse buy, but she had admitted to herself that it was also a practical and safe gift. Everyone needed to tell time.

“Oh, what a handsome watch!” Mrs. Eclaire praised, a hand on her cheek.

“Look Dad, you can watch the gears move! You know, the professor told me a really interesting puzzle about gears.” They all admired the watch, the quality of the leather, the brightness of the gold numerals, but her eyes were trained on the recipient of the gift. When they quieted down, he looked up at her and she tensed, caught up in the warm glow that seemed to pour from him.

“Miss Eve….” He smiled, suddenly, and then shook back his sleeve so that he could wear it immediately. “I thank you. I’ll treasure it.” He tapped the face, eyes following the eternal trek of the gears before he looked around the room and his jaw tightened once more. “I… I don’t know what to say. A mere thanks is hardly enough. I feel… as if….” He trailed off, looking down at his lap.

“Nonsense!” Espella slid into the seat next to him, patting the stuffed dog’s head. “We’re family, and families throw birthday parties for one another. And eat cake, which we haven’t done yet.” She looked pointedly at Mrs. Eclaire, who held up a handful of candles.

“I’m afraid I couldn’t find twenty five of them, but I do have two and five, which make seven.” She put two candles on one side of the top tier and five on the other.

“Seven is considered an auspicious number in many countries,” Mr. Cantabella said, taking a seat across from his daughter. Eve moved to join them, sitting on his left. Mrs. Eclaire lit the candles deftly and placed the cake in front of the knight.

“Don’t forget to make a wish before you blow out the candles!” Espella advised, watching happily. The candles lit sparks in her eyes and Eve realized that the girl was even happier than she would have been on her own birthday, because she was living her dream of seeing _him_ happy. _She must really care about him_. It didn’t surprise her; Espella was very much like Barnham in many ways, selflessness being only one of them.   

“Aye.” Barnham looked seriously at the cake a moment and then took a deep breath, blowing all the candles out in one try.

“Oh, that means your wish will come true,” Mrs. Eclaire said happily, brandishing a knife instead of her rolling pin. She cut a generous piece and served him first, followed by the rest. Espella dipped her fingers into the thick frosting and let Constantine and Eve get a taste, an act that would normally have prompted a scolding. This time, the baker overlooked it as she argued in a friendly way with the old man about how big a piece he wanted versus how big a piece he _needed_ , the latter being far smaller than she was willing to cut. He settled on a middle-sized piece and then and she split the remainder of the lower tier between herself and Eve before taking a seat.

The cake was light and moist, the buttercream frosting whipped and flawless, settling on her tongue in a myriad of sweet and subtle flavor that made her toes curl in her boots. _If I ate like this every day, I’d be the size of a house_ , she thought as she took another bite. Espella moaned in bliss, licking the icing from her fork. Barnham was wolfing his piece down, exclaiming between bites about how delicious it tasted.

 When they were finished there was the top tier to devour, and then the rest of the evening was filled with laughter, conversation, and puzzles about gears that stumped Mr. Cantabella until Barnham and Espella showed him the proper way to solve it. Every so often, she saw him stare at the watch, or gently touch the mitts, and the same look of incredulous wonder would pass across his face. _What is he thinking?_ She never let him catch her looking, always turning back to the puzzles before he could see just how closely he was being watched. After some time, she looked up to see that night had fallen while they were all busy drawing different diagrams on spare paper. 

“Oh, I should probably head home,” she announced, standing up and reaching for her coat. “I didn’t realize how late it was.” They all made to rise, but Barnham scrambled to his feet before Mr. Cantabella could even push back his chair.

“I’ll walk you home,” he offered, grabbing his own coat as well. “Stor—Mr. Cantabella, would you like to come with us?” The older man looked at him, then at Eve, and shook his head.

“Oh no, I think I’ll stay here a bit longer. I want to make sure I understand some of these,” he excused himself easily, tapping the papers with one finger. “I had no idea we had such a puzzle aficionado in the family.” Espella beamed and put her hand on his, even as her cheeks reddened.

“Oh, Dad,” she sighed in embarrassment. “I’m not an aficionado.” By the time Eve was properly wrapped up, goodbyes said, and Mrs. Eclaire had made her promise to come to dinner next week, Barnham had the lantern lit and held the door open for her. She hissed under her breath as the wind hit her full force, nearly unbearable after the cozy warmth of the bakery. Wasn’t there a law of nature that said the wind had to stop blowing at some point during the day? Why couldn’t spring hurry up and arrive?

The streets were as deserted as they’d been during the day, lights flickering from behind shuttered windows and warmth pouring from beneath doors. The moon was high above them, casting such a bright light that they almost didn’t need the lantern. It did little to light anything except the walls and a bit of the ground as they both walked quickly towards the wall.

“Did… did you like your gift?” she asked timidly, the silence impersonal after the joviality of the bakery. He was quiet, keeping in step with her as he looked straight ahead. The forest loomed before them, but it was only after they passed the walls that he replied.

“More than I can safely say, I think.” It was an answer that confused her; she wasn’t sure whether to press or not.

“You said… that you had never had any presents before,” she ventured cautiously. He didn’t answer. “And Espella found your birthday out by accident; she said you wouldn’t tell her outright.” Still he was quiet, but she knew he was listening. The wind was broken by the trees, and she slowed down. He obligingly kept pace with her, the lantern casting erratic shadows on the gnarled branches all around them. She took a deep breath. “Is there a reason—”

“I would prefer not to speak about it.” He sped up just enough that she was looking at his back, his face hidden from view. “Please respect my wishes on this.” The hollow emptiness had returned to his tone, and she found that she hated it. It sent weird chills up her arms and down her spine.

“Of course,” she agreed, somewhat reluctantly. The silence grew between them and she hugged herself, both to save what body heat she had and for some form of reassurance. Had she offended him? “I apologize if we offended you with the party, Espella and I just thought—”

“No apology is necessary,” he interrupted, though he didn’t fall back into place next to her. She watched the back of his head, hair brushing the lower hanging branches and vines. “I enjoyed myself, despite whatever my first misgivings were.” _So he hadn’t wanted a party after all._ She couldn’t help but praise her own logical judgment, and berate herself for letting Espella talk her into giving him one. She just couldn’t shake the look in his eyes when he heard the words “Happy Birthday”. He turned suddenly, stopping in the center of the path, and she nearly ran into his chest.

“Is something the matter?”

“Don’t be scared of me, Eve.” It seemed such an odd thing to say. “You don’t have to worry about offending me,” he clarified. “I could see that there were only the purest intentions at heart. That’s why I allowed myself to enjoy the gifts and the party. But my—the day of birth was never a celebratory occasion before today. I don’t….” He seemed to struggle with something, looking out at the shadowy woods. “There have been many times in my life that I cursed it.”

“Cursed it?” His shoulders fell and he worked his jaw, staring at their shoes. “No, I’m sorry,” she spoke up, reaching out to put a hand on his arm. “I just made a promise that I would respect your wishes. You don’t have to talk if you don’t want to.” Their eyes met and she swallowed, forcing what she hoped was a friendly smile on her face. “Of course, if you ever do need someone to speak to….”

“Yes, thank you.” The leaves rustled above them and he turned, pointing to the path. “’Tis unhealthy to stand out in the cold. We should get you home.” She reached out and looped her arm through his again, this time as much for warmth as it was in apology. He allowed, slowing down to walk at her side and tucking his scarf into his coat so it wouldn’t flap in her face every time they passed through a clearing. When they reached her house, she unlocked the front door and motioned for him to step inside.

“Come on. You should at least warm up before making the trip back.” Her house wasn’t the warmest in town, but a fire and a cup of tea would put him at rights. He wouldn’t be getting ill on her watch, and she somehow felt that she owed him.

“Only a moment,” he warned. “I really must be getting back.” She lit the lamps in the hallway quietly, something stirring deep within her.

“You know?” _What are you doing?_ The logic side of her mind sat up on high alert. “Um… I’ve read that in some places… much like new years, there can be birthday kisses.” The words left her in a rush. _Are you out of your mind!?_ She thought she just might be. “As friends, I mean. And, erm—if you weren’t adverse to it, and you truly wanted a full birthday _experience_ —” _You’re insane! Insane! Go lock yourself in the dungeon this instant, Eve Belduke. You are flirting with **disaster**! _ “I’m only offering because Espella nearly choked you to death with her last hug and she’d get too into it.” There was a clunk as he sat the lantern on the hallway table.

“I believe that… ‘tis only proper. If I’m to celebrate my birthday for the first time, then I must embrace all traditions.” _Even possibly made up ones,_ her inner voice growled. _You don’t know if such a thing exists. Birthday kisses. How foolish._ She brushed the thought aside, motioning him closer. He stepped forward, looking down at her expectantly, and she felt a pang of jealousy. Espella really was able to just throw herself on him, since they acted more like brother and sister rather than friends. She didn’t think twice about wrapping her arms around him. Her, on the other hand… just the thought of her face against that jacket was....

“Eve?”

“Let’s see,” she said quickly, before he asked her too many questions and she lost her resolve. She tugged on his shoulders and he bent down. It had been the beginning of January when she last kissed him, but the minute his lips touched hers it was as familiar as anything. _Because you spent the last two months reliving it, that’s why._  It was chaste and simple, and she didn’t linger the way he had during their new year’s kiss. His eyes drifted closed, as though he were savoring the moment, and she felt the urge to do it again.

“I thank—” She swallowed his gratitude, tugging him back by the collar. _Oh, so Espella was the one that would get too into it?_ His hand found her waist and settled there, shifting just enough that it was easier for him to stay bent. _Damned fool,_ her mind muttered, a little more quietly. “W-what was that one for?” he asked when she let him move back, voice warm.

“Last year. Belated.” She smoothed down the collar, unable to look him in the eyes. _Might as well go through with it,_ Her reason threw up its hands in defeat. “And I believe I knew you for five years, before the last two.” He needed no more encouragement, dragging her flush against him and holding her there in a tight grip as his mouth found hers once more. His kisses were soft, experimental, pulling sounds from her that she’d never heard from anyone, much less herself. Hers were bold and questing in return, exploring his mouth and doing things she’d only read about. Finally they had to breathe, and she was glad when he broke them apart; if it were up to her, they might have smothered first.

“Seven,” he mumbled, fingers brushing along her jaw as they caught their breath.

“What?”

“Seven,” he repeated. “Five years and two years. An auspicious number.”

“Well then, you ought to be set up for the luckiest year yet.” His hand moved from her jaw to her neck, tracing the curve from chin to collarbone and continuing beyond. She made a sound when he didn’t stop at the rise of her breasts, and he rested it over her heart in a silent compromise.

“Eve, I… somehow, I don’t think those last few were very _friendly_ kisses.”  

“I don’t think any of them were.” He seemed to know what she meant, and he blushed darkly.

“Would you have kissed me otherwise?” he asked softly. She didn’t know how to answer. Probably not? Maybe? “What are we? I mean, are we… do you think… hmm.”

“Do you call yourself a man?” she scoffed, shaking her head at him. Couldn’t he just do one thing properly? He was acting as though this was a first crush and not… whatever it was. _It might be a first crush,_ she told herself, but discredited a moment later. _Surely there was someone before me. Someone prettier._ He frowned, but then her face was angled up and he kissed her within an inch of her life, leaving her breathless and panting, leaning against him with all thoughts put on hiatus.

“Do _you_ call me one?” His tone was smug, and she didn’t dare look up to see the it mirrored on his face. “What do you think?” _I think I’m in trouble._

“Fair enough,” she managed to choke out. “But if you’re going to ask me out, just do it and save us both the trouble.”

“Fine. Go out with me.”

“When?”

“Tonight, tomorrow, what does it matter? Anytime.” He kissed her cheek with a feather-light touch. “Just as long as we keep doing this, alright?”

“Tonight?” she repeated, pushing him away. “My, Sir Barnham: are you having lecherous thoughts? It’s already so late….” She bit back a laugh at the shocked gasp that came involuntarily from him. “But I might be able to pencil you in this Friday, if the offer stands.”

“P-perhaps noon?” he stated hopefully. She pretended to think it over, secretly happy that she’d been able to cheer him up. She didn’t like seeing him so solemn and angry with—what, himself? Someone he remembered from the past? It was hard to say, but she wouldn’t press him on it. She understood all too well that there were some things too difficult to speak of.  The most she could do would be to stay in his corner and offer her support.

“Noon is fine.” If he weren’t so encumbered by the jacket, he might have leapt clear to her roof with excitement.

“Then I will see you on Friday!” He rushed up to her and pulled her into a suffocating embrace, the zipper of his coat poking her cheek painfully. “Don’t forget!” And just like that he was gone, the lantern left behind on the table and sputtering weakly as the candle burnt out. She stood in the doorway, watching his already-distant form meld into the forest seamlessly before shutting the door and smiling at the wood.

“As if I could forget.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> Afterword:   
> March is passed (in the story at least). There’s not a (n American) holiday for March besides St. Patrick’s Day—and that is just an excuse for people to get drunk without learning a smack of Irish history or—but I digress. So I decided to make a holiday. Also, one of my Twitter mutuals has a terribly sad, yet somehow emotionally gratifying backstory for the poor knight, which was the catalyst for him not liking birthdays, or at least his own birthday. I want to give him a tragic backstory too, but I like him too much, poor thing. 
> 
> At least I still have nearly a full year to decide on how deep I want it to go. (laughs). Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
